


Never

by 221BroadwayIron



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Race is a Good Big Brother, Romeo's backstory, romeo needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BroadwayIron/pseuds/221BroadwayIron
Summary: “Can I, um, ask you a question?” His voice shook a little on the last word.“Shoot, kid,” Race replied, sticking his cigar in his mouth and sitting on a bed.“Do ya… do ya ever feel like… like jumpin’ off the fire escape?”----------Or, Romeo asks Race a question with frankly terrifying implications.
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & Romeo (Newsies)
Kudos: 25





	Never

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 7/8/2018.

  
  


“Listen, go ask ‘im yourself, Rome, since ya ain’t gonna take my word fer it,” Jack said, sounding frustrated. He nudged Romeo up a rickety stair.

“Wait! Jack, bu—”

“It’ll ease your mind a whole lot betta to talk with ‘im.” Raised voices—Albert and Finch—came from the common area and Jack took off down the stairs two at a time. “Jus’ tell ‘im!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

Romeo hovered, frozen in indecision, halfway up the stairwell until Race’s head poked out of the bunkroom. “Heya, Rome? Come ‘ere a sec, will ya?”

Dread pooled in Romeo’s stomach as he scrambled the rest of the way up. This was it. Race was literally  _ giving him _ the opportunity to ask, if only he had the guts to do so.

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout with Jack? I thought we’se brudda’s, Rome. Ya come ta me wi’ everything,” he added as he closed the door behind the two. The faint hurt in his voice made Romeo’s stomach squirm again.

“I do, Race, I jus’... I didn’t… Can I, um, ask you a question?” His voice shook a little on the last word.

“Shoot, kid,” Race replied, sticking his cigar in his mouth and sitting on a bed.

“Do ya… do ya ever feel like… like jumpin’ off the fire escape?”

Race laughed. “What d’ya mean? That’d be suicide—” Suddenly, he stopped, stuck his cigar in his pocket, and pulled Romeo down onto the bed next to him, warm hands resting heavily against his arms. “Are we actually talkin’ ‘bout me, Rome? Or are we talkin’ ‘bout you?”

His eyes were more serious than Romeo had ever seen. The boy opened and closed his mouth, opened and closed it again, then pulled the edge of the blanket onto his lap and began worrying at it with his fingers. He didn’t say anything.

“Romeo?” begged Race in a worried voice. “Please. Please, tell me what you mean.”

“I mean… I mean…” stammered Romeo. 

He was suddenly finding that he very much didn’t not want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? Race was never going to let him go until he answered. He looked almost  _ scared,  _ and Romeo felt horrible guilty. He took a deep breath. 

_ Here goes nothing. _

“When I was little,” he began hesitantly, “my sister and my ma worked in a factory. And then it… it burned. An’ they was there, was— was in it. An’ then it was jus’ my da an’ me.”

He stopped for a second, wrestling with the tears in his voice. Race shifted on the bed, torn between wanting to comfort him, confusion over the seemingly unrelated story, and gnawing worry over his earlier question.

“My da,” continued Romeo finally, “he loved his cigars, his Bible, but mostly he loved my ma an’ my sister.”

“An’ you,” Race couldn’t help but interrupt.

“I-I thought so. Maybe he did.” The boy paused again, biting his lips together. “Not enough, I guess… I—” He drew a shuddering breath. “I found him, one morning. Hanging from the ceiling. I… I think I screamed… I— I don’t—” Romeo broke off again, too choked up to say anything else.

Race let out a tense breath and wrapped both his arms around the boy as tightly as he could. Romeo was trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry… I didn’ mean to make ya have to relive that… Shh, Romeo, it’s okay. I’ve got ya now… Shh…”

There were several false starts of Romeo wiping the tears off his cheeks only for more to flood over as soon as he tried to talk. Race drew him gently back into his arms each time, murmuring into his hair. Eventually, though, Rome pulled back to look up at his friend.

“I’se never told anyone that,” he said, with a shaky almost-laugh. “I just… Race, don’… Please, I need ta know you’se never gonna—”

“Never, I swear, kid.” Race wrapped him back up in a hug. “I’se always gonna be here.”

“Promise?” Romeo glanced up with huge, tear-filled brown eyes.

“I promise,” Race swore. “Until you’se old an’ gray an’ just want me outta your hair. But, hey, you listen to me, ‘kay?”

Sniffing, the boy nodded.

“Romeo, if you scares me like that again, I is gonna soak ya straight through ta next week, hear? No exceptions.”

Romeo laughed, a real laugh this time, which made Race grin too and ruffled his feathery hair. “Love ya, brudda.”

“Love you too, Race,” responded Romeo and leaned contentedly into his brother’s side.

_ El fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated!


End file.
